A Collection of In Between Scenes
by LadyRainbow
Summary: Very short scenes originally written for the Shernanigans challenge on Tumblr. Different POVs, different points of time. Mostly gen, but a smidge of Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade
1. Waltz of Deception

**This was originally written for the Shernanigans Challenge on tumblr. The music prompt was Vienna Blood by Strauss.**

**Mycroft Holmes knows all the social niceties. After all, they're needed to safeguard Her Majesty's realm.**

**Don't own, don't sue. Sherlock belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gattiss. **

**Rating: T**

Waltz of Deception

Of course, Mycroft knew all the social niceties. His mother once told him, "Sometimes, my son, you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Certain places are rich fields of information...if you are willing to make a few sacrifices."

Those sacrifices included dance lessons as a child. He bore them with a stiff upper lip; after all, such skills might pay off later in life. Sherlock, of course, complained bitterly throughout the whole ordeal. Ironic, considering Sherlock had an uncanny sense of rhythm and timing for music. It hadn't surprised him a bit that his little brother selected the violin as his instrument of choice. If only Sherlock applied himself, perhaps he could have become a great concert violinist.

Of course, Sherlock could have been a great scientist or politician. Then again, what could you deduce from a child who had been fascinated by pirates?

Mycroft listened to the Viennese ambassador with a sliver of his attention. His eyes were glued to the dance floor, his ears to the music. One, two, three. One, two, three. Three-quarter time, the waltz.

He spotted her standing there all by herself, a crystal flute of champagne in hand. Baroness Alissa von Hirnbaum, a 'minor' member of Austrian nobility, wife of Baron Gustav von Hirnbaum, the adviser to the Austrian President. Like Mycroft himself, Alissa held more power and influence than anyone expected. Her delicate hand affected Continental politics without being felt.

A worthy ally, or a worthy opponent, depending on how she felt that particular day.

Mycroft politely excused himself from the conversation and slowly made his way to that side of the dance floor. Alissa saw him coming, her dark blue eyes glittered in the bright lights. His mouth twitched in grim humor. Well, it appeared that she would be a worthy opponent at this moment.

"Frau von Hirnbaum," he greeted her in his flawless German. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Herr Holmes. You flatter me too much."

He inclined his head towards the dance floor. "I would be much amiss if I do not dance with the hostess of the party. May I?"

She gazed up at him with that icy look. Alissa was such a tiny thing, much shorter than John Watson by nearly a foot. But her smile was perfect. "Of course, Herr Holmes."

Mycroft swept her up into the waltz, and they began another kind of dance. The dance of deception and politics.


	2. An Old Friend and a New Nightmare

**This was originally written for the Shernanigans Challenge on tumblr. **

**Don't own, don't sue. Sherlock belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gattiss. **

**Rating: T for language**

**John Watson discovers the dogtags of an old friend...and a new enemy.**

This was inspired by the opening scene in "ASiP", with John's nightmare. I imagined it was Moran who shouted John's name when John was shot, and that he shouted "SEBASTIAN!" when he woke from the nightmare. 

**An Old Friend and a New Nightmare  
**

**John brushed his left thumb on the well-worn dogtags. The letters were barely readable, but he could still read the name on the first line. He heard Lestrade come up behind him, but stayed where he was, kneeling in front of the shattered window.**

"John? You okay?"

He stared at the name again, but his mind was somewhere in Afghanistan...

Their convoy had walked into a trap. He was one of only two medics in the team. Paulsen was meters away, cowering behind an overturned truck. He was fresh out of medical school, at Bart's. John considered him like a younger brother of sorts. Sniper fire peppered the air all around them. John swore as bullets pinged close to him. Too damn close.

All they had to do was hold on until their rescuers arrived. John knew one of them, a man who served in Special Ops, whose loyalty to his friends were absolute. Brash, taciturn, somewhat of a bloody arse, but a good man to have at your side.

___Come on, dammit, where are you?_

Another volley of sniper fire slammed into Paulsen and the other two soldiers near him. The force of it tore into the young medic and hurled him out of cover and into the open. John hardly hesitated; he grabbed his kit and rushed out, keeping low to the ground.

It was bad, really bad. Paulsen's eyes were wide with shock, with agony, staring up at John in utter blind panic. John bent to apply pressure to the wound in the center of Paulsen's chest, already seeping blood at an alarming rate.

"W-Watson? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Save your strength, lad. You're gonna be okay, but you need to keep talking to me. We're gonna get you out of here-"

A whine cut through his words, a split second before a high velocity bullet punched through his right shoulder. The impact drove him backwards into the sand and he lay there in agony. Paulsen screamed once, then that scream cut off with a horrible finality.

Then a familiar voice shouted, "WATSON!"

He nearly sobbed in relief as he screamed back, "SEBASTIAN!"

The cavalry was here...and Colonel Sebastian Moran was leading the charge.

_About time you got here_, was John's last thought.

"John?"

Lestrade's voice brought him back to the present. John slowly got to his feet, cradling the dogtag in his hand. "Sorry, just woolgathering."

The letters sparkled in the dim light: MORAN, SEBASTIAN


	3. Collateral Damage

**This references John Watson's entry in his blog here: ****The Hounds of Baskerville**

John didn't tell everything in his blog entry.

Greg Lestrade/Molly Hooper, pre-relationship. This happens after Sherlock, John, and Greg return to London from Devon.

This was originally written for the Shernanigans Challenge on tumblr. Don't own, don't sue. Sherlock belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gattiss.

_Italics are from John's blog entry. Molly's thoughts are in bold._

Collateral Damage

Molly blinked at her screen. Blinked again. She raised a clenched fist to her mouth to keep from screaming. She sat there, riveted to John's words on his blog, about the Hounds of Baskerville. Her eyes kept coming back to two sentences:

_"____Sherlock denied it at first, but back at the pub he finally admitted to me that he'd seen it. I've never seen him so shaken, so scared. He was actually terrified."_

Sherlock? **Terrified?** Molly had never seen him terrified. Concerned, yes. Distracted, yes. But not absolutely terrified.

John's tone was factual, bland, as if he had been dictating a patient's record. Molly read between the lines, the wealth of meaning in those two sentences. For someone who worked with dead people, she knew how to interpret the living.

"Molly?"

She nearly jumped off her stool. Her heart raced at the unexpected voice, loud in the stillness. Molly whirled around, one hand on her chest. "Oh! Detective Inspector! I'm sorry, I hadn't heard you come in." She breathed the words in a complete rush.

Lestrade smiled weakly. "That's all right. I didn't mean to startle you. You looked absorbed at whatever you were reading."

She shook her head and said, "Just John's blog. He wrote up another case."

"Which one?"

Molly frowned as she noticed Lestrade's appearance: face pale as chalk, dark circles under his eyes, hands trembling slightly. She wondered whether or not he'd even slept for the past week. ******Wait a minute-wasn't he supposed to be on holiday? He was supposed to relax. Did something happen?**

"'The Hounds of Baskerville."

He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder at the laptop screen. Molly heard his breathing quicken..**.fear, he's scared. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade is scared. ********Of what? What happened during his holiday?** She had never seen him terrified, either, and they'd both been through some hair-raising cases.

"Detective Inspector? Lestrade?" She glanced over her shoulder. At the sight of his expression, she immediately vacated her stool and steered him onto it.******Oh my God...he's shaking! He looks ready to faint.**

She gripped his hands tightly and tried again. "Greg? Look at me, not at the floor. You'll keel over if you stare at the floor."

"I'm fine," he said flatly.

"You. Are. Not. Fine." She let go of one of his hands and gently placed two fingers under his chin, tilting his head so he could look up into her eyes. It didn't take much; even with him sitting and her standing, the height difference was obvious.

"Molly-"

"What's wrong? And God help me, if you tell me again you're fine, I'll smack you."

The vehemence in her tone actually made him laugh a little. It was tinged with a strange hysteria. "I believe you would, Molly. John didn't tell everything in his blog."

She stared at him, then it all made sense. "You were there, on the moor. You saw the Hound too."

"I was there." He looked past her, at the opposite wall. "I saw it. I tried to shoot it, when it attacked us. I missed. Twice. John didn't miss. He shot it dead."

_"____-the poison, the weapon that H.O.U.N.D. had created hadn't been in the sugar. It was in the fog! We were in a chemical minefield_**_._**_"_ Molly's eyes widened as she remembered John's words. If Greg had been there, then he'd been affected too!

"What did you see, Greg?" He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the memory. Molly's heart pounded in her chest and she tried again. "Tell me what you saw."

"My worst nightmare," he whispered. He was shaking so badly that Molly thought he was halfway to a nervous breakdown. The confident, calm, Detective Inspector hid so much behind that facade. The fact that he had come here, that he lowered that facade in front of her, made her feel honored, almost humble.

"What did you see?"

"Everyone dead. Sherlock, John, Anderson, Donovan, Dimmock...even you." He forced his eyes open to look at her. "And you all demanded why I let you die. You were crying, Molly, and I couldn't hold you or comfort you..."

Her heart broke for him and she went with her instincts. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. He shuddered as the sobs racked him; he had to be strong for others, but now she had to be strong for him.

"It's all right, Greg. I'm here," she murmured. "I'm right here."

The storm passed after a few moments. He withdrew a little and frowned at her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to make you cry."

Her smile trembled. He was apologizing for more than his little breakdown and she knew it. "It's all right. You needed a sympathetic ear."

She felt something pass between the two of them, something she couldn't define. Molly hugged him again and he returned it.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"That's what friends are for, Greg."


	4. Envy Irene Adler's Thoughts

**This was originally written for the Shernanigans Challenge on tumblr. **

**Don't own, don't sue. Sherlock belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gattiss. **

**Rating: T**

**Irene Adler envies him, but not for the reason people think.**

**This takes place between Irene's conversation with John at the end of "AsiB" and when Sherlock saves her from execusion.**

**Envy (Irene Adler's Thoughts)**

She envies him, but not for the reason people think.

She can't afford to trust people. Period. Trusting people means lowering your defenses. It means baring the bones of your soul. It means the one thing she loathes the most.

Dependence. The very idea rankles her. Dependence equals trust. Trust means betrayal. Betrayal means begging for a compromise. She can't settle for that. The one and only time she begged, that person simply walked away.

It was a harsh lesson.

But she knows he cares for Sherlock. After all, that's what he does for a living. But just not for her. He would follow Sherlock to the ends of the earth, fusses over him, cares for his welfare. Sherlock looks to him for cues on how to deal with people. What were the words?

Oh, yes. "Bit not good."

Three simple words and Sherlock changes his behavior.

She had asked Moriarty how to handle the Holmes boys. He had launched into a complete monologue about 'The Iceman' and 'The Virgin'. All those flowery words. But those three simples words has an immediate effect on Sherlock. An effect she can never match.

"He'll come after me if I tell him," she had protested.

"I'll come after you if you don't," he had answered. And she believes him.

He appears harmless. After all, he is a doctor. Do no harm, and all that rubbish. But he has power and influence, just not the kind she expected. The kind that held a certain consulting detective in thrall.

He claims they aren't a couple. Maybe (or maybe not) in a sexual sense, but certainly in a spiritual sense.

And she envies that. She envies HIM. She hates him.

Because his power is genuine, from the heart.

Note: It's from Irene's POV, about John.


	5. When Denial Becomes Strength

**This was originally written for the Shernanigans Challenge on tumblr. **

**Don't own, don't sue. Sherlock belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gattiss. **

**Rating: T**

_This is post-Reichenbach. Molly has helped Sherlock 'die' and is the only one who knows he's actually alive. Irene Adler pays Molly Hooper a visit at St. Bart's morgue. The Woman knows Molly better than Molly herself, esp. when it comes to loving Sherlock. (Yes, I know those two never actually met during "ASiB", but I think those two would have something in common.)_

When Denial Becomes Strength

"You still love him. I don't care how much you deny it."

Molly Hooper jumped at the voice, loud in the utter stillness of the morgue. Her eyes snapped up towards its source. Molly stared at the woman in the doorway. Stared some more. Blinked. No, the apparition was still there, and it was smirking at her.

Molly had never met her in the flesh. Living flesh, anyway. She remembered that horrible Christmas night: Sherlock's face as he identified the body, turned and walked away. His brother never apologized for his behavior. Molly didn't mind; she understood.

She wondered how Sherlock managed to identify the corpse without being able to identify the face. At this terrible moment, as Molly stared at the woman in the doorway, she understood that too.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be dead! You hurt him, you know, when he came in here and-" she squeaked. She meant it to sound angry, indignant, but it came out far too high, and it made her sound like a mouse.

"It was necessary, Doctor Hooper. He needed to believe I was dead. It was for his protection. I think you know what I mean."

Molly flinched at the words, true as they were. Unfortunately, she understood this particular line of reasoning, especially now. "But why are you here?"

The Woman (Molly capitalized the title in her head) merely chuckled, low and deep. "I envy you, Doctor Hooper."

"Why?"

"Just because." The Woman inclined her head, as if studying Molly's features. "Plain, unremarkable, but very important. You protect him, hide him in plain sight. And you do it so effortlessly. Just because."

Molly struggled to hold onto her anger, but it ran away like flowing water. The Woman sympathized with her. The Woman understood.

Wait...did The Woman just say she envied Molly?

"Take care of him, Molly. That's all I ask." The Woman's smile held a touch of sadness. Then she turned and melted back into the dark shadows.

"Wait-where are you going?" Molly rushed out into the hall, but The Woman was already gone.

_"You still love him. I don't care how much you deny it."_

Molly hadn't confirmed that assumption, but she hadn't denied it, either. But it was true.


	6. A Terrifying Visitor from Her Past

**This was originally written for the Shernanigans Challenge on tumblr. **

**Don't own, don't sue. Sherlock belongs to ACD, Moffat and Gattiss. **

**Rating: T**

Mrs. Hudson has tea set out for Sherlock and John when they come back from their latest case. A terrifying visitor from her past comes by 221B instead.

This is based on what Sherlock said about his back history with Mrs. Hudson during 'AsiP'.

A Terrifying Visitor from Her Past

"Hello, Martha."

"But...but..." Mrs. Hudson drops her cup of tea in complete and utter shock. Some of the fragrant liquid stains John's favorite chair behind her. The fact doesn't even register in her mind as she stares at the ghost in front of her. He's even wearing the blue-gray suit, white shirt and yellow tie he'd worn to the trial in Florida.

The trial where the judge and jury had given him the death sentence.

"But you're dead, Andrew! The evidence...they-"

He smiles, but his eyes are icy cold. "Ah, your dear Sherlock insured it, didn't he? At least, that was what the authorities told both of you. I made one final request on that day, Martha. And as you can see, they granted it."

Her legs give out from under her and she collapses into John's chair. She feels the dampness of the tea through her brand new blue dress. "We watched you die-"

"-just a little ruse to let you and Sherlock believe justice was done." He takes a step towards her. "I have powerful friends now, Martha, and they will help me take back what is mine."

She reaches for the fire poker behind her, but he grabs her wrist. Then he kneels in front of her, like he had when he had first proposed marriage to her, forty years ago, before it all went to Hell. He gently touches her cheek with the other hand.

"So, tell me, Martha, how IS our young genius? I'm looking forward to seeing him-and his army doctor-for tea today."


End file.
